


'Tis the Season

by voiceless_terror



Series: advent archives [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Christmas with the Polychives, Jon is a Disaster, Martin is a Hot Baker, Multi, Pure Unadulterated Sweetness and I'm Not Sorry About It, Sasha Needs Order, Tim Does Not Like Putting Up the Lights, holiday fluff, season one AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:20:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28014597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voiceless_terror/pseuds/voiceless_terror
Summary: The Archives Polycule spreads a bit of Christmas cheer at home. Featuring Disaster Jon, Hot Baker Martin, and Master Decorators Tim and Sasha.
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Sasha James/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Sasha James/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: advent archives [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2065938
Comments: 14
Kudos: 182





	'Tis the Season

“It’s a little crooked on the left side. You should fix that.”

After one too many of these comments, Jon was banished back inside.

If Tim had just let him on the ladder, it would be straight. It would be _perfect._ Jon was the one who suggested putting the lights up around the outside door of their flat (and secured permission to do so), he should’ve at least been involved in the execution. But Tim immediately vetoed the idea with a laugh. “You don’t have a great history with heights, boss. And you’ve always been a bit wobbly.” Jon took offense to that.

So he’d been stuck on the ground, pointing out every flaw in Tim’s attempts. He wanted to get everything _right._ None of them were religious, but it was their first holiday together and there was something very romantic about the season. At least, according to Martin. And if it put a smile on his face, Jon was willing to do it. He wasn’t immune to a little Christmas cheer himself, as much as he grumbled about it. 

Tim, however, was not listening to his advice. “You should go inside, you’re shivering,” he grunted as he attempted to string the lights further out of reach. Jon shook his head, determined to see this through to the end.

“I’m fine, it’s not that bad.”

“I was just being nice,” Tim replied, heaving a sigh as he looked over his work. He gazed down at Jon, looking irritated but fond. “You’re being a little pest. Go inside and help Martin with the cookies.” Jon shot him an offended look, but did as he was told. It _was_ rather cold outside.

And Martin was very, very warm. It was always nice spending time with him in these domestic sort of ways, but Jon was an absolute mess in the kitchen. Martin was standing over the counter, flour on his apron and just a bit on his cheek. He shot him a dubious look as he entered, eyes going soft as he watched Jon shiver and taking his hands in his own to warm them up. Martin had big hands, soft but slightly calloused. Jon was embarrassed to admit it, but he liked the way they covered his own, smaller ones. It made him feel protected. Safe.

“Think you can handle mixing?”

“Of course.”

He could not. It wasn’t his fault he lacked coordination. 

After about five minutes cleaning up the mess he’d made on the counter (“And the _sink,_ and the _floor,_ how is that even possible, Jon?”) he’d been relegated to making little dough balls and setting them on the pan. That was easy enough. Tasty, too. Until he was caught. 

“Stop eating that!” His hand was batted away, sending one of the little balls of dough flying. “You’ll make yourself sick.”

“That’s not true, and you know it.” Jon grumbled, picking up the dough from where it landed on the ground. 

“It is if you eat three of them.”

It was four, actually. But what Martin didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. 

One more mishap involving a hot pan, a napkin, and a fretting Martin, and he was sent to help Sasha decorate the tree. That was something he could do, easily. He had a nice eye for those sorts of things. 

Sasha disagreed.

“The garland’s crooked, Jon. Put it up a little higher.”

“I can’t reach there.”

“You have to put the heavy ornaments on the heavy branches. Else they’ll break.”

“It’s _fine_ \- oh. Sorry.”

“Look, just do the handmade ones, okay? They’re ugly and somehow indestructible.”

_“I_ made that one!”

And that was why he was now sitting on the sofa, cocooned in a fluffy blanket with a cup of hot cocoa and a few cookies to ‘keep his hands busy,’ according to Martin. This was not an ideal situation- he was supposed to be helping them, not lazing about.

“I’m not doing anything, Sasha. What’s the point of decorating if we aren’t all involved?”

“Sorry, love. You’re just a bit of a mess, that’s all,” she attempted to look apologetic as she turned from her admittedly beautiful handiwork with the tree. “Just sit there and look pretty. Relax.”

“You _are_ doing something,” Tim called from the doorway, where he was currently wiping his boots on a doormat. “You’re our Elf on a Shelf. Grouch on a Couch. Every flat needs one.”

He did feel quite cozy. And it was relaxing, as loathed as he was to admit it. The smell of cookies in the oven, the soft, cheery music in the background. Martin, Tim, Sasha. It was perfect. Maybe Martin wasn’t the only one who needed this. 

“I’m thinking we should bring the ol’ Research traditions to the Archives,” Tim said, settling in beside him, Jon instinctively leaning into his side. “Give Martin the true holiday experience.”

Sasha barked out a laugh. “You just want to bring back the mistletoe.”

“You caught me, Sash. Maybe Secret Santa too-”

“That doesn’t work when we’ve all already bought presents for each other,” Jon argued. His first year, someone had drawn his name and didn’t bother to get him anything, though they still attended the year-end party and exchange. It was very embarrassing, and just a little bit saddening (another thing he won’t admit). Every year since, Sasha and Tim managed to draw his name, even as the department got bigger. A happy coincidence.

“Still could be fun,” Martin was leaning against the kitchen door frame, looking so good in that apron it was almost unfair. “Didn’t you used to dress up as Santa, Tim?”

“Um, it was actually ‘Old Holiday Present Man’ I’ll have you know. But in case you were wondering- yes, people did sit in my lap and tell me what gifts they wanted. What was it you wished for, Jon?”

“The same I did every year,” Jon rolled his eyes, his facing burning at the memory. “To never face such public embarrassment again.”

The others snickered. “And yet-”

“Every year, wasn’t it?”

“-you sat on my lap.”

“Shut up,” Jon muttered. “You made me.”

“Sure, sure. Whatever you say.” Jon wanted to make a rebuttal but he was just so warm, so content. The lights in the tree twinkled in his blurry vision and he had to fight back a yawn. The radio had turned to one of the old Christmas hymns, the type he’d always preferred to sing along too. He couldn’t summon the energy to do it, however, so instead he just hummed along.

“You have such a nice voice,” Sasha commented, as she stepped back to admire her handiwork. “You could be our little radio.”

Jon let out a soft snort. “I’m bigger than a radio, Sasha.”

“Hm, maybe.”

He let his eyes slip shut, curling his legs up on the couch and leaning further into Tim’s side. A little nap wouldn’t hurt. But Tim nudged him up, ignoring his grunt of protest.

“Can’t go to sleep on me now. You’ve got the most important job of all!” He opened his eyes to find Sasha waving the tree topper in front of his face, an obnoxiously bright gold star. Jon sighed, though he didn’t fight the smile on his face as he took it out of her hands.

“Well I’m going to need a chair, first of all-”

“Who needs a chair when you have a Martin?” Tim proclaimed. And as easy as that, he was unceremoniously scooped up under his arms and led over to the tree in a strong grip, his startled sounds of protest ignored. 

“Go on then, put it up.”

“Don’t drop it,” Sasha added unhelpfully. “It was quite expensive.”

“I won’t,” Jon sniped, although his hands were shaking slightly as he reached out to place it on the top of the tree and adjust it as needed. The three let out an only slightly condescending cheer, which Jon ignored. “There. Happy? Now you can put me down.” He wasn’t so much put down as he was placed back in Tim’s arms, Sasha and Martin joining in on the too-small couch. As stupid and cheesy as it sounded, he took a small amount of pride in being able to accomplish something without messing it up- it felt nice. That is, until Tim’s next words.

“Think it’s a little crooked.”

Martin put a preemptive hand on Jon’s back, as if to stop him from rearing up to argue. “Shush, Tim. It’s fine.”

“I’ll fix it later.”

“Don’t you _dare.”_

**Author's Note:**

> I've been on the fluff train all week. Eventually I'll get hop off and get on another one, but I've been in an unusually happy mood and I'm subjected you all to it. Enjoy some polychives advent nonsense, I might do a few more of these if the mood continues.
> 
> Let me know how you liked! Love to read any and all of your comments <3 You can reach me @voiceless-terror on tumblr for prompts/asks/general yelling. Thanks for reading!


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